The poetry of light and darkness.
The pain of being something you are not & being what you are.
Plain, bloody, consuming, lethal magnificent life.
My own past.
Not in years... but in agony.
Gothic and sometimes beautiful.
Always beating with a heart that is partly my own.
Stay a while and enter my world.

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Saturday, August 14, 2010

Sweet Child

I lost her I don't whenPain took her away from meThe echo of laughter in my soulLostI killed herI saw her blood on the floorMy bloodI lost her to the demon hateOr more likely... to my own selfCutting was my drugMy releaseMy freedomThe black pulseBeating my scorched heartThe memories I'd like to forget